Seven Months

This time last year, Mina was in the seventh week of her chemo. Huh. Look at that? Seven months since her seventh week of chemo. Things are so odd sometimes. It’s weird to look back to that week and read how anxious and scared I was and I know Mina was worried, too. I think I did alright at the end, though.

So where am I? Still anxious, only not about Mina – I don’t worry about her any longer ’cause I know she’s happy and healthy and having a great time. I don’t cry all the time, but I still shed tears for her every day because I miss her every day.

I talk to Mina especially when it’s time to go to bed. I tell her that I love her and miss her and ask how her day was and tell her what mine was like. I miss when she used to sleep on the bed with her head on the pillow next to me and her back pressed against mine. Mina was more comfort and love than any human animal could ever be.

Whenever I leave the apartment I always invite her to come along and say the things I used to say when she’d sit and watch me leave for work, or to run an errand she couldn’t accompany me on.

I spend a lot of time by myself and that is so weird. Mina’s presence filled every little hole in my life, even if she was just napping by the window. It’s such a habit that whenever I open the door to our apartment, I automatically look to the right, where she’d often be after watching me through the window as I exited my car and walked up to the building.